Because They Loved Her
by SumRandomNutt
Summary: Severus reflects on his relationship with Lily and why, exactly, they will never be together.


Everyone loved Lily. He knew that like he knew his own name. He knew it and despised it but he couldn't blame them. After all, who could help but adore the green-eyed witch with the flame-colored hair? Certainly he could not.

But because they loved her, he would never have her.

Lily was a spark that brightened everyone's eyes; teachers and students alike succumbed to her unconscious charms. James Potter wasn't the only one besotted with her, oh no. Severus, dark-eyed behind his curtain of greasy hair, had caught that longing expression on the handsome face of Sirius Black. Also he glimpsed the fleeting, wistful smile of Remus Lupin whenever the disgusting werewolf's hand brushed hers over an ancient tome in the library.

Because they loved her, he would never have her.

His first year had been a blossom of the brightest orange-crimson, the color of Lily's hair. He'd introduced her to the world of magic; she was tied to him like no one else at Hogwarts. How cruel, he reflected, that ancient divides should rip them apart—what hope for friendship existed between a dirty Slytherin boy and a shining Gryffindor girl?

Still, he tried. Sometimes in the evenings, they walked 'round the lake, fingers interlocked, arms swinging. She confessed to him her every secret, searching his face for the slightest flicker in his distant eyes. Of course, he could never, ever give it to her. His love would be exposed and she would flee, running from the darkness of dungeons into the light of safe, unreachable towers. But he consoled and encouraged and assured her that well, yes, all the Gryffindor boys were prats, but she would always have him to defend her. She would laugh and throw her arms around him, and in those moments, he embraced all that was bright and beautiful in the world.

But then everyone else began to see what he saw. His Lily became the jewel of Gryffindor, a sparkling emerald in a sea of dull ruby. Her childish worries evaporated like dew in the morning sun. She no longer shined for Severus Snape. Now, she shined for the world. Their walks by the lake became less and less frequent as the count of her admirers grew and grew. Instead of whispering about her fears and dreams, she sang about Potions and Charms and Severus Black's latest loathsome prank. He did not let her see how much it pained him.

In his third year at Hogwarts, he realized that because they loved her, he would never have her.

His world began to stretch like a balloon filled with too much air. Sanctuaries became prisons. Pressures built and friendships threatened to shatter and life was a whirlwind of fear, dread, and lies. He was nothing more than a frightened child with a deep desire, and in a moment of weakness that he would forever regret, he capitulated, and he was branded.

Potter knew, somehow. He thought he'd been careful enough, cold enough. Merlin knew he had practice wearing masks. Perhaps he'd been too often a shadow, haunting Lily's steps even though her stony silence and fierce green _disappointment_ shredded his heart to ribbons. Whatever his mistake, the taunting increased until it last he could no longer take it. And then it happened.

He lashed out at her. In his childish pain and jealous rage, he uttered the forbidden word. In that one instant, she shifted from fire to ice and the fraying strings were broken, broken.

His world turned to dust. He immersed himself in the rush of power and blood and death and forgot to feel. All he wanted was to be forever numb, but a single red-orange flower haunted his dreams and so he pushed harder, harder. The rest feared him—here he was strong and important and everything he could not be for her, but the comfort it brought was momentary.

She came to him one night and almost broke him. How she knew to find him there he'd never guess, but as he sat on a child's swing staring into an empty sky, she came to him. Her face was pale and her stomach round. Her hair whipped to and fro in the wind. She lowered herself into the swing next to him and flinched when it shrieked of rust.

He said nothing, drinking in the sight and smell and almost-taste of her.

"Please, Sev," she whispered, appealing to him with eyes of summertime leaves drenched with rain. "Please come back."

"What would I have to come back to, Lil?" His eyes drifted to her belly.

She didn't know how to answer. She laid a hand on his wrist, the one that burned when the Dark Lord called, and he shrank from her touch. She was too pure for him now, even if she hadn't been before.

A multitude of thoughts swirled in his mind, inadequate words that could never convey what he wanted—needed—to express. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and vanish with her into the depths of oblivion where neither Potter nor Voldemort could follow, forever swinging in the sunshine and meandering by the lakeside, watching his fire lily bloom. He wanted to sear the Mark from his flesh and enslave himself to her alone. He wanted to promise her life and love and happiness, all the things she wanted for him—for him, not to give him—but it was not to be. Instead he brooded in twilit silence.

Slowly, painstakingly, he reached for her shivering hand with a trembling one of his own. Their fingers interlaced naturally, and they sat together, alone in a night soaked in despair. When she struggled up from the swing, he helped her, but after a moment, she pulled away.

She did not turn quickly enough for him to miss the faint luminous wetness on her cheeks. "Goodbye, Sev," she whispered, and like a dream, was gone.

Because they loved her, he would never have her.


End file.
